


Kiss and Make it Better

by Annehiggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annehiggins/pseuds/Annehiggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both the forces of Heaven and Hell are after Dean and Castiel, but sometimes a kiss really does make it all better. At least most of it. Written for <b>Darksilvercat</b> as part of the <i>Renegade Angel Fic Exchange.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss and Make it Better

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to Life Journal Oct. 4, 2009 with the following note: The Season 5 clip from Comic Con became available while I wrote this, but I decided to stick with my original ideas about what would happen. Season 5 has blown all of it out of the water (and wonderfully so), so it's now an AU.

  
**Kiss and Make it Better**  
By Anne Higgins

Half-blinded by the usual streaming head wound, left shoulder dislocated (caught a break there, fuckers hurt the wrong one), and pissed as hell – pretty much business as usual and wasn't that just fucking sad. Dean dodged one demon's out stretched hand – that grab him by the throat and leave him dangling during a rant had gotten old years ago – and plunged The Knife (formerly known as Ruby's Knife, but he'd join her back in Hell before he'd ever give that bitch credit for anything again) into the chest of another.

With no time to watch the light show – and it had gotten fairly old, too – he dove, then rolled to his feet (Motherfuck! That hurt!), and got another one in the back. Each time he moved, he left himself wide open for an attack even as another demon bit the proverbial dust. But when he zigged, zagged or other wise evaded, Castiel's pointy-fingers-of-doom struck demon forehead and sent the Hell-spawned (literally) nightmare home.

They'd hit the diner facing fifteen to two odds, but hadn't had time to do more than charge in or face twenty-five dead civilians at the hands of Lucifer's jolly minions. A boot with demonic strength behind it caught him in the rib cage, and yeah, there went at least two ribs and most of the air in his lungs. Fuck!

Cas stepped between him and a second kick, shoving a possessed dude who looked twice the angel's size across the diner. Hit the far wall with enough force to leave a dude-sized dent. "Dean," he called, catching another demon's forehead and sending her on her way.

"'m okay," he muttered, getting his wind back and his feet underneath him. The Knife flashed in his hand again, and another demon bit the dust. Hated using it. Whoever got stabbed died with the demon possessing the body, but Cas couldn't handle every one of them alone. Not anymore.

He spun around and … didn't need to do a damned thing. He gave Cas a weak smile. "Guess the good guys win today," he said.

"So it would seem."

Dean looked around the room. The demons' intended victims had all headed for the hills. No points for heroism, but hey, high marks for intelligence. And that left the two of them the only ones standing. Six bodies sprawled on linoleum or across booths with red vinyl covering. Six poor saps who'd never had a chance. Shit. But another nine would get up and go on with their lives. Sick as it might seem these days that was pretty much an awesome victory. 

He sighed, then his world exploded in pain and his knees gave out. Would have hit the floor, except the same bastard who'd shoved his shoulder back into place without warning, caught him. "Sorry," Cas whispered into Dean's ear, then kissed his temple.

He clung to Cas with his good hand until the dizziness passed and his stomach settled. Few seconds tops – he'd had his shoulders knocked in and out of their sockets so often that he'd learned to ride out the pain/nausea/etc. with appalling speed. "Can we go home now?" he murmured against the warm flesh of Cas' neck.

"Yes, I sense no further demonic presence in this area. We –" Cas stiffened suddenly. "Dean!"

His lover's shove sent Dean flying, but the warning had let him keep control of his fall, and he hit a booth with bruising instead of bone shattering force. Fuck, fuck and triple fuck! He rolled through it in time to see Cas go hurtling through the plate glass wall that made up the front of the diner while one of Heaven's freakin' assassins stood watching his handiwork. Dean's heart caught in his throat for the few moments it took Cas to get back to his feet. Bleeding from several cuts, but no spurting wounds.

A look of fury in his blue eyes, Cas blocked a punch from the freaking angel, who wore some weight lifter's body. Vessel size really didn't matter, except when it did and Cas couldn't last more than a few seconds with a fully-juiced up angel – so outmatched in vessel-size and angel power. Not good.

Fortunately for his sexy angel, Dean didn't do Lois Lane while Superman ducked it out with Doomsday. A lack of blood not being a problem, Dean swiped his bleeding forehead and got the symbols drawn on the nearest wall with well-practiced speed. 'Not Cas,' he thought. _Not Cas. Not Cas. Not Cas._ He slammed his hand down into the finished blood spell and with a screech of fury Muscle Angel vanished. Cas didn't, and damn Dean was getting good at this. Last time 'not Cas' had meant Cas got thrown across a parking lot two streets away instead of tossed back to Heaven.

They grabbed each other by the forearm and hauled ass back to the Impala with all its lovely anti-angel/demon/things-that-go-bump-in-the-night wards, then burned rubber out of town. Gritting his teeth at the pull on his shoulder and broken ribs, Dean reached over the back of the seat and snagged the first aid kit. "How bad is it?"

Cas kept his eyes on the road, his hands at the perfect ten and two position on the steering wheel. "I'm fine," he answered, his jaw tight enough Dean wondered if it would fracture from the movement needed to speak.

Dean snorted. "You'd say that if you'd lost a limb."

"Perhaps, but it remains the truth."

He pulled out a gauze pad and began dabbing at the cuts on Cas' forehead and arms. Not the best day to have worn a shirt and t-shirt instead of the heavy trenchcoat. But at least he had enough mojo left that the wounds had already pushed out any glass shards. "What 'remains the truth' is that your ass is bleeding all over my baby."

"As is yours." More tight anger. Cas hated it when Dean got hurt. Not that he was any happier when Cas got hurt, but the angel took pissed off and protective to art form level. "Sit still, love. Rest."

Figuring one good dismissal deserved another, the answer was pretty obvious. "I'm fine." The two-o'clock hand twitched. "You keep your damned pointy fingers to yourself," Dean growled. "Or you're sleeping on the couch for a month." He fucking meant it, too. Only six-weeks of this shit, and he was already sick of Cas mother-henning him while acting like his own injuries didn't matter. That fucking archangel guarding Chuck had bound Cas to his vessel – killing Jimmy in the process, but what was one more tick in the body count to Heaven's 'upper management?'—and if it died, Cas died. Yeah, killing him would still take more effort than most things could pull off, but it would be nice if Cas remembered he wasn't Mr. Immortal anymore.

"Dean, I am bruised and bleeding," Cas said, and seriously, if he didn't ease up his jaw would snap. "You have three broken ribs – one of which I broke getting you away from Xaviare."

Oh, yeah, being worried about his lover getting executed and all, he hadn't noticed until now, but another rib had given when he'd hit the booth. And Xaviare? Perfect douche name for an utter douchebag of an assassin. He sighed. A shallow one as he hurt more and more as the adrenaline faded. "Fine, I'll sit still," he said, dropping the bloody gauze into a plastic bag he kept in the first aid kit for just such an occasion. "But no putting me out."

"Fine."

"Fine." And could someone please tell him how they went from sort of friends to a squabbling old married couple in less than two months? Not to mention when he'd turned into a teenage girl who wanted to sulk because he hurt too much to curl up against his bitch of a 'husband?'

Either sensing Dean's mood or feeling all smooshy himself, Cas reached over and took Dean's hand, interlacing their fingers. Felt so fucking good, Dean didn’t even growl at him for not keeping both hands on the wheel. Besides, the bitch was already a better driver than him. "I'm such a friggin' girl," he muttered.

Cas smiled slightly. "Perhaps, but you're my 'girl.'"

"I am so kicking your ass for that," he said, but was suddenly too tired to give the threat the venom it deserved.

"I will add it to the list of my offenses against you."

"You'd better," he muttered. Pretty damned impressive list, too. Dean owed him one epic beatdown for scaring the shit out of him right after Lucifer rose. And yeah, that was when they'd gone from platonic pats on the back to trying to curl inside each other's skin every chance they got. He'd thought for sure Cas wouldn't survive the battle with the archangel – sure the little guy was scrappy, but he'd yet to win one against the big boys as far as Dean could tell. But there Sam and Dean had been standing around like a couple of fucking morons while Lucy made with the light show, and suddenly Cas had popped up, grabbed them both and whisked them off to Bobby's in the blink of an eye. Already had done as much for Chuck. Then instead of letting Dean be all grateful and everything, the bastard had collapsed. Been unconscious for three days. Dean had crawled into bed with him some time during day two. Chick flick moments had ensued about five seconds after Cas woke up. Dean would never live all that mush down, but at least it had lead to frequent gropes by an angel.

Took four hours at 90 mph plus – turned out wards against demons and angels also worked on speed traps – to reach Bobby's. Lights were out in the house, but they weren't headed there anyway. Instead, Cas drove around back to park next to a one-story bungalow-like structure.

Bobby had built it partly to work off stress in the weeks before and after Lucifer's arrival back on Earth. But he'd also growled something about needing a place for 'idjets' like Dean and Sam to crash without waking him up in the middle of the night. It had five rooms. One served as a first-aid-on-steroids station. There were two bedrooms connected by a Jack-and-Jill bathroom. And in a true testament to creative credit card fraud and thievery, the final room held a huge steam shower with multiple shower heads. Thing was the size of a walk-in closet and had a hot water-tank as big as a fucking bus. Dean had declared undying love to it the moment he saw it.

His aching body trembling with a mixture of fatigue and anticipation, he stumbled inside and got the shower and steam generator turned on. All that lovely hot, pulsing water and steam began to flow promising to wash away the blood and pain. He started to undress, then grit his teeth against the ache in his shoulder.

"Let me," Cas said, easing the flannel shirt off. T-shirt followed. He stooped down and had Dean steady himself with a hand on Cas' shoulder as the angel rid him of boots and socks. A moment later Dean stepped out of his jeans, then into the shower. He sighed, closed his eyes and let the water do its thing and whisk away the blood decorating his body.

"I always wonder if I should be jealous of this thing," Cas said, his hands settling lightly on Dean's shoulders.

"Not when you're my favorite back scrubber."

"Ah, as long as I have a place then." He kissed Dean's injured shoulder, then licked it. Dean's skin began to tingle, the ache to ease. Cas repeated the kiss-lick until he'd covered the entire rotator cuff. He dropped to one knee and did the same thing for each battered rib. Hey, who was Dean to argue if it turned out angels really could kiss it and make it better? Except once Cas had finished with the ribs, Dean did have a complaint.

"Your turn," he insisted, pulling away when Cas tried to turn his attention to the gash on Dean's forehead.

Cas frowned. He always liked to get Dean all fixed up first. "Dean, you're still hurt."

"But you're the one still bleeding." Well, oozing. He brushed his lips across the deep gash on Cas' forearm, then smirked when it stopped bleeding. In an awesome twist of fate, since becoming lovers, the grace Cas had pumped into him to restore his corpse, then reunite soul and body, gave him enough mojo to heal Cas in the same way he healed Dean or at least encourage his self-healing. But given how creeped out they both were by Sam's whole demon-blood drinking, they always fixed each other up in the shower. Seldom got even the faintest taste of blood in this particular watery paradise.

His lips traced a path over two long cuts across Cas' chest. When a bruised muscle in Dean's back pulled as he shifted to Cas' right side, the angel shifted enough to press a kiss to it, ending the ache. Cas tended to his neck while Dean licked his way up the gash marring Cas' jaw line. A flurry of kisses by both of them took care of a number of cuts and bruises on their faces, while, the retreat of pain and the press of skin to skin made things further south begin to take an interest.

Dean groaned as his cock slid against Cas', and he captured the angel's mouth with his own. Deep, thorough kiss that promised all sorts of wonderfully filthy things, then he dropped to his knees and began working on the cuts adorning Cas' legs. Not many of them and some had almost healed already on their own – his torso had obviously taken the brunt of the impact with the glass.

Healing stuff done, he turned his attention to some of those filthy things he'd had in mind and brushed his lips along the length of Cas' cock, then smirked when his angel hissed in pleasure. Dean had never been a fan of virginity. He'd thought of his own as something to get rid of with all due speed and disliked the baggage others put on theirs, but it gave him insane levels of delight to know no one in all the millennia Cas had lived had ever made him make a sound like that or had ever seen his face flushed with desire as it was now.

"Dean," he whispered, his voice hoarse despite the whirls of steam around them.

He took the cock into his mouth and began licking and sucking with the sort of fast, teasing motion needed to give head and breathe with all the water flowing around them. His so-not-a-virgin-anymore angel moaned his appreciation, his hands caressing Dean's head and shoulders. And man, was he a fast learner – especially after he'd got his angelic hands on some reference materials. And was it blasphemy to think 'thank God for Internet porn' while giving an angel a blow job?

Cas pulled at his shoulders, and Dean reluctantly abandoned his prize as strong hands urged him back to his feet. Mouths rejoined for a moment, then Dean felt the press of the stall wall against his back. Yeah, Cas always got in a hurry after Dean got hurt, and he couldn't say he minded.

Fingers slick with liquid soap slid inside him and he gasped into Cas' mouth. His body never seemed to have much resistance against the angel's intrusions and within seconds, hands gripped his waist and lifted him up. Dean being taller and bigger than Cas, it shouldn't have been possible to do it like this, but Cas raised him into, then easily held him in position.

Dean groaned his appreciation as Cas' cock pushed inside him, and he wrapped his legs around the angel's torso, pulling him close, pulling him deeper. "Cas," he moaned over and over again until the angel's mouth on his own robbed him of his ability to speak. Fuck, he loved this. Cas driving into him, his own weight keeping him so completely impaled he could swear he felt each thrust striking his heart.

Cas' kiss swallowed Dean's scream as he came, his hands clutching the angel's shoulders hard enough to momentarily leave prints to match the one burned into his own shoulder more than a year ago. The angel thrust twice more, then whispered, "Dean," and stiffened in his own release.

Intensity of it should have fucking destroyed both of them, but somehow, when they had sex, it energized instead. They kissed and nipped at each other until gravity pulled Cas' softened cock free, and the angel lowered Dean back to his feet.

They took turns washing each other, then Cas coaxed him out of his beloved shower and into their bedroom for a snack of Oreos and milk from the mini-fridge. Dean liked to twist them apart and eat the frosting first, while Cas preferred to dunk them in the milk, then stuff them in his mouth whole. They ate the entire package while they went over the 'what went right and wrong' details about their hunt. And, of course, Cas had to be all broody about hurting Dean when he threw him clear of the wrath of Muscle Angel.

"They are getting more and more careless in their frenzy to destroy me," Cas said, rinsing out their mugs in the bathroom sink. "This is the second time you've almost gotten caught in the crossfire."

"Yeah, hazards of the job," Dean muttered around his toothbrush, his hip propped against the edge of the second sink. He spit, then rinsed. "Or do I have to go through the list of the times you've gotten clipped because you went hunting with me?"

Cas glared at him, but wisely opted not to get into the 'it is harder to kill me' argument again. Instead he picked up his toothbrush and set about his own quest for minty-freshness.

Dean glared back because he could practically read the damned feather-brained fool's mind. Soon as Sammy got back on his feet, Dean knew it would take everything he had to keep Cas from vanishing for 'Dean's own good.' And Dean really, really hated half-way wanting his brother to stay out of it so he could keep his angel. "You leave me and I will hunt you down and fucking kill you myself," he grated out. Having declared his big, undying, girly love for the bastard, he stalked back into the bedroom, then got into bed, his back pointedly turned toward the bathroom and Cas.

Didn't mean he fought it when Cas flipped out the lights, joined him under the covers, then pulled Dean back against him. "I love you, too," Cas whispered in his ear. Dean just wished the unspoken part of that didn't go something like, 'and I will do what I must to keep you safe.'

*

Castiel woke to find the sun full in the morning sky. Around 10. No, not around. 10:20.34 as humans in this part of the world defined it. It served no purpose to pretend he did not know this. His sense of time and place did not number among the things he had lost. The man sleeping in his arms stirred, and Castiel smiled, then pressed a kiss to the center of Dean's forehead.

He shifted as if to get out of bed, and Dean's arms and legs immediately tightened around him in the beginnings of a ritual performed each morning they could sleep in. "I must rise, my love," he whispered into the quiet of the bedroom. "All is well." It took the usual ten minutes of soft reassurances interspaced with silences that he'd learned soothed his human, yet let him continue to sleep, but the limbs holding him finally loosened.

Slipping from the bed, he stretched, then paused for a moment to make certain Dean would settle back down. It was concern for one dearly loved and had nothing whatsoever to do with the warm feeling which flooded through his chest each and every morning Dean pulled Castiel's pillow close and snuggled around it. Dean sighed and went still. He would sleep another two hours.

He collected a set of clean garments, then went back into the shower room, hoping he had stayed with Dean long enough to keep his final dreams of the night from turning into nightmares. Ironically given Lucifer's rise and the strong possibility of Hell on Earth, memories of his time in Hell seldom plagued Dean's sleep now. Instead images of those he loved dying – memories laced with fears of the future – tortured his non-waking hours. Castiel's own loss figured prominently among them. They seldom spoke of it, of course, but he could still see Dean's dreams even if he could no longer step into them with his former ease.

Castiel had tried to get him to understand that he had lost far less than Dean believed, even while hiding he had lost far more than Dean could ever imagine. He had lost none of the abilities Dean had seen him manifest in the past, but several cost far too much energy to remain practical. His teleportation of Chuck, then Sam and Dean in the aftermath of Lucifer's escape was an example. It had put him in what a human would call a coma for three days and left him too weak to be of use beyond anything more than 'lying in bed and looking sexy' for another two.

Setting his bundle aside, he examined the ruin of his clothes and frowned. While he absolutely understood the need, he disliked the means used to pay for his new garments. Theft, fraud. His mind supplied the labels even while it could find no means to provide an honest income sufficient to meet their needs while leaving them all free to hunt. Perhaps the next time this lottery thing reached lofty heights he would manipulate it. A fraud, yes, but at least one that would not have to be repeated so often. However he could see this would cause complications as well. He would discuss the matter with Dean when the risk versus reward seemed acceptable.

Again he fingered his bloody and glass-shredded clothes. He could mend them, clean them with a thought, but without his full grace to draw upon it would leave him weak for hours. He could not hope Dean would fail to notice which would make him worry all the more. No, this too was an unacceptable use of his remaining abilities, so he tossed the garments into the bin for disposal. Dean's clothes had survived any damage beyond blood stains, so he treated them, then dropped them into the laundry hamper. A pity Robert Singer's solution for removing blood could not be mass marketed, but he could not see a way to do so when the first ingredient was holy water and the last a cleansing incantation. Although he imagined the infomercials would be quite amusing.

The urge that had driven him from bed increased to discomfort, and he sighed, then gave into the inevitable and moved from the shower room into the bathroom to tend to his body's needs. Without his full grace and the glory of Heaven to draw upon to sustain it, Castiel needed to sleep, eat and eliminate. It was the latter he was the most uncomfortable with even though the actual physical sensations were not unpleasant. Instead it was millennia of the typical view that such physical needs were what made humans inferior, and a good chunk of angel humor revolved around elimination and comparing humans with monkeys. He had never approved of such jokes -- although Uriel had told one about a feces throwing contest that had made him smile – or the attitudes behind them, but he had apparently not been above it all as much as he had liked to think.

Finished, he decided he felt stale after a long sleep and turned on the smaller shower in this room. While the water warmed he brushed his teeth, then ran his hand along his jaw. Be another two days before he would need to shave although Jimmy would have had to do so each morning. But Castiel was not human. While he could no longer keep this body in a cellular stasis and allow it to function properly, things still took more time, thus he needed far less sleep, and could go several days without drinking, weeks without eating yet suffer no ill effects. But these differences disturbed Dean, made him worry Castiel did not know how to care for his body, so he had adjusted closer to a daily schedule despite the inconveniences.

He showered, then dried off and tried not to feel irritated by the time it took, by how temporary the effects always seemed. It had taken some effort not to develop what Dean called an obsessive compulsive disorder over the need for cleanliness, but he was coping. He sighed and dressed. He'd selected his favorite jeans – soft and comfortable, he never wore them outside of the safety of this place to delay having to toss them in the disposal bin. A plain dark blue t-shirt served to cover his torso. No need for multiple layers for protection here, and he did not need them for warmth.

Not even an angel would walk around a junkyard barefoot, so he pulled on his boots – the only items not damaged beyond repair yesterday. Presentable – and he tried very hard not to think 'by human standards' – he left the home he shared with Dean, walked up the small path to the kitchen door, then entered Bobby's house. Another discomfort. Calling a man who acted as if he did not care for him by a nickname seemed overly familiar, but the man did not like Robert and it caused friction between Bobby and Dean if Castiel referred to him as Mr. Singer. He suspected the source of Bobby's ire was their first encounter. Had Castiel known the man would one day become the closest thing he would ever have to a living father-in-law, he might not have been so quick to knock him out. Or at least made it look more difficult to do. Injured pride and confusion over Dean suddenly 'goin' all gay for an angel' did not make for a comfortable relationship.

The subject of his thoughts looked up from pouring a cup of coffee. "Cooperstown go okay?"

"We prevailed," he answered simply. "All is well here?" They'd been gone for five days and seven hours. Much could happen in that time, and he sensed … a difference in the household.

"Slip of a redhead showed up day before yesterday. Sam called her Anna."

Astonishment flooded through Castiel. Anna alive? And here? Neither seemed possible, but he did not react with alarm in the face of Bobby's calm. Instead he waited.

"Pages Chuck wrote about it are on my desk," he went on after a sip of coffee. "Escaped before they could kill her, but she's human now."

Castiel walked over to the organized chaos of Bobby's desk and picked up the small stack of loose printed pages. He read them in a glance, and shared the frustration evidenced by the big red 'how?' Chuck had scribbled over the sparse details of her escape. It should not have been possible, nor could he understand why they had not executed her immediately. Anna had lost all belief in the existence of their Father and would not have been susceptible to attempts to 're-educate' her.

He could almost hear Dean's snort. 'You mean torture, dude.' Yes, but not in the sense a human would understand it. Had angels skill in such human methods, they would not have needed Dean's assistance to break Alastair. Instead Castiel had been bombarded with wave after wave of agony beyond human imagination born from his own doubts. All while Zachariah whispered that what he felt was God's pain over his disobedience, over his putting Dean before God and Heaven. It had broken him with a shameful swiftness. But not so deeply that Dean could not reach him, let him remember that love flowed from God and his Father would never feel threatened by such a love. Nor would He have chosen Castiel's garrison to send after Dean had he not wished for Castiel to reach him first, to come to love him.

Anna had lost her faith, and the time to use her doubts against her had long passed. Nor had it worked the first time she had endured it or her current lack of faith would not exist. Given his own experience, he wondered if it ever truly did work. Which did not change the mystery surrounding her survival. Some plot of Zachariah's made the most sense, but should she have even the most repressed of compulsions to cause anyone here harm, the wards around this place should have prevented her from even remembering where it was, let alone entering. "Where is she?"

"Talkin' to Sam," Bobby answered with a sigh.

Ah. "And Chuck?"

"Hold up in his 'room.'"

Castiel could hear the quotes. Bobby's house had four bedrooms, but only his own remained useable for this purpose. Weapons, books and a variety of needed paraphernalia filled the other rooms. But rather than use the second bedroom out back, at least while Sam would not, Chuck had opted to shove things around in the library and curl up on a cot in the corner. 

"If you will excuse me," he said, moving in the direction of the library/Chuck's room.

Bobby merely grunted, and headed out the kitchen door, but Castiel distinctly caught the words, 'idjets' and 'fucking hotel.'

He never knew whether to be worried or amused by the man. He knocked on the doorframe leading into the library – Dean had finally broken him of the habit of sneaking up on people.

Chuck looked up from his computer. "Oh, yes, you're back," the prophet said. "I knew that."

"You are writing of our adventure in Cooperstown?"

"Yeah. Nice work, but looked like it was a close thing at the end."

"Unfortunately."

Chuck gave him a long look, and Castiel knew he was about to take advantage yet again of the debt the angel owed him. "He's not kidding, you know. … Dean, when he says he loves you. Gut him if you took off."

"I have no desire to leave," he answered wishing he did not owe this man his life. But the little prophet had, as Dean would put it, 'grown a pair' right before the archangel could kill Castiel and had leapt in front of him. Too late to completely stop the attack, it had left Castiel something more than human, something less than full angel, but very much alive.

"But you're gonna do it anyway."

"Gutted is still alive."

"Maybe not."

Alarm swept through the angel. "You have seen something?"

Chuck gave him a look. "You know I can't do that anymore." Yes, he did. Chuck's brave act had both cast off the protection of heaven and destroyed his ability to see the future. He could see the present fully and continued his work based on those visions, but his days as a true prophet had ended. He had seemed at peace with events, saying he knew the whole 'seeing the future' thing had to end after Dean and Sam discovered him. Was the sort of plot device that could only be used a few times before it got really old, and, if he'd really been writing the story, he'd have killed himself off even sooner. And he could see the present without suffering the headaches. So yes, he considered it all a good trade for having Castiel alive and a safe place to stay. But he continued to take liberties when he spoke with Castiel. "But it doesn't take a prophet to see that the poor guy has suffered too much loss to survive much more."

Castiel was aware of this, but, "I will not leave until Sam is restored to him."

"Which will make him hate his brother and himself for hating him."

"You can't know that."

Chuck shrugged. "Sure I can. I've spent more than four years knowing how he thinks and feels. You need to stay." He picked up the bottle of whiskey always close to hand, then drank deeply. Without the migraines to require it or, perhaps merely excuse it, Chuck did not drink nearly as much as he once had. But he still drank often. Especially when seeking the courage needed to say something he knew others did not want to hear. "I don't just see events, Cas," he said, gesturing with the bottle at the pages scattered all around him. "I feel the emotions, hear the thoughts, get the whole big picture in surround sound." He sighed. "Was why I sort of thought I was kind of good at this writing stuff."

He took another drink. "You go and it'll kill him. Might take a few weeks, month or three tops, but it'll kill him."

*

Dean woke to the smell of coffee and smiled. "You are the most awesome boyfriend ever," he murmured, sitting up.

"Or well trained," Cas said, sitting down on the edge of their bed, then handing Dean the mug of coffee he'd brought.

"Same thing," Dean declared, then took a long sip. A happy sigh, and he tilted his head up, offering his mouth. In a testament to both Cas' awesomeness and training, the angel kissed him. Cas might be all OCD over his own hygiene, but he never seemed to mind Dean's coffee-laced morning breath. Seriously, best BF ever. An opinion which only soared even higher when Cas pushed the covers aside and settled down between Dean's legs to give his morning wood the same attention he'd given Dean's mouth.

He moaned his approval, his hand doing a controlled flail to set the coffee mug down on the end table. Angel had a mouth like a freakin' Hoover, and Dean came within a minute. So high points for quality; they'd work on quantity later in the day.

Cas shifted to lie beside him, then kissed him again, sharing Dean's taste, and that was just way hotter than it should be. He was still humming happily to himself as he went through his morning routine, then dressed. Should have smelled the set-up, but love seemed to make him stupid.

The bombshell dropped the moment he finished pulling on his boots. "Dean, Anna is here."

Fuck! For a minute it felt like he'd gotten Chuck's future powers because he could hear this fucking conversation even before Cas spit it out.

Dean scowled at him. "No way in hell I'm hitting that again."

Cas gave him the confused, tilty-head look. Adorable most times. Not now. "I was unaware you had ever hit her."

He upped his scowl to a glare. "Not funny, Cas." Damned angel had learned human expressions almost as fast as he'd learned human sex tricks, but kept trying to act like he hadn't when playing dumb bought him time. "I didn't know I loved you then. Do now, no back-tracking."

"It would make things easier for you when-"

"You. Are. NOT. Leaving. Me."

"It is not safe for me to remain much longer," Cas insisted. "With both the forces of Heaven and Hell searching for this place, the wards will eventually fail."

Dean shook his head. "Sammy will think of something." He said it with the absolute faith of someone who had seen his brother pull a miracle out of his ass more times than Dean could count, and never mind that it was expecting a hell of a lot for Sam to find something an angel didn't know about. In fact … yeah, he was pissed off enough now to deal, so he whirled on his heel, then stalked out of their place, up the path, into Bobby's house, then down the basement stairs.

He could see Anna sitting on the cot in the center of the panic room while Sam paced. Good news-bad news there. Hey, Sam wasn't all fetal with the moping today, but he'd rather have done this without his ex-whatever watching. Still, one final kick in the pants ought to get Sammy jump-started.

"Dean," she said, when he entered. "You look good."

"Hiya, thanks, but taken," he told her, and yeah, he was being a dick, but he hated doing the chick flick shit. He glared at his brother. "So, you're on your feet for once. You tired of playing emobitch?"

"Dean-"

"Shut it, Sammy!" he snapped. "We've all tried to tell you none of what happened was totally your fault, but you've been having too much fun having a pity party to listen." Harsh, and not entirely accurate. It had taken over a month for Sam to shake the demon blood withdrawal, because yeah, it hadn't given him his powers, but it turned out to be a bigger bitch than heroin in the addictive stakes. All the pain, none of the fun, and par for the course for a Winchester. All of which meant that the sulking hadn't filled his brother's agenda until two weeks ago. But hey, the love of Dean's life was trying to hit the road for Dean's own good and he was so out of time, not to mention patience, here.

"So listen up. I'm saying this once, then I'm done with this shit because it is so past time for moving on here." He took a deep breath then launched into it, "None of this is on your head, Sammy. It's on mine."

Sam tried to speak again, but Dean held up his hand both to stop him and to count off the points on his finger. "I couldn’t kill you when everyone, including you, said I should. I couldn't stop you from dying. Then I wasn't strong enough to let you stay dead. I fought you too long about saving me from the fucking deal I made to find a way to get out of it. Then, and here's the really good part, it turns out that the first seal to break? That was me! Second I caved and started carving up souls that fucker cracked wide open. So, while it sucks to be the sap who broke the last one, none of this was possible without yours truly fucking up every step of the way, so get the fuck over it and help me fix it!"

He whirled around, shot back up the stairs, then into Cas' arms. And how much did it suck that he needed the bastard so much when he'd just put himself through that to keep him? Dean buried his face in Cas' chest and screamed out his pain. No, not just to keep him. To help Sam. He'd known only the truth – that it was his stupid, worthless, fuck up of a brother, not Sam, who had caused the Apocalypse – would snap Sam out of it. But he couldn't tell him until he could do it without breaking down like he had all the other times he'd tried to tell Sam the truth. It had to be about Sam getting angry at him, not about feeling sorry for Dean because the pity hadn't stopped a damned thing from happening. He'd practiced over and over saying the words. Gotten so he could do it without totally breaking down, but he'd needed to get angry to give him the last push. But anger only got a guy through so much.

A second pair of arms wrapped around him and Cas, his brother's weight pressing up against his back. It helped calm him. Or at least got him to stop shaking. But his stomach twisted with fear at what this might cost him.

*

Castiel looked at the plate of eggs Anna set in front of him and tried to muster up the enthusiasm to eat. Dean seemed in a similar state of disinterest even though last night's Oreos had been their first 'meal' in a day and a half.

Sam and Chuck happily began to eat the moment her hand moved away. Although Chuck took every occasion he could to cast an 'I told you so' look in Castiel's direction. He found it … irritating, but he could no longer deny the truth of the prophet's words. He should have known better than to even try, but he'd let the loss of the future blind him to what remained. Ironic given his own displeasure at how others now viewed him.

The skillet hissed as Bobby dumped it into the sink, then he joined the others at the table. He looked at Chuck. "The gang all here now or should I start building on more rooms?"

A smile twitched on Chuck's face despite the growl in Bobby's voice. "I'll let you know as soon as I do."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "That's just great."

They started talking while they ate. Sam even joined in, saying he wanted to help, but he didn't think he was ready to go out on a hunt.

"Then train me," Anna said. Everyone looked at her, and she shrugged. "I know the how of most things, and I'll always be stronger than I look, but I've never actually had to use a weapon."

"Makes sense, Sammy," Dean said, his voice hoarse from his 'mini-breakdown.' "Help you get back to your fighting weight and," he cast a defiant look toward Castiel, "give you a feel for what she can do to back you up."

Bobby nodded. "Still got your dad's old truck in the back. Should do the two of you."

Anna smiled. "What do you say? Partners?"

Castiel blinked and something relaxed inside of him. Suddenly he understood the how of Anna's escape. A moment later, Chuck smiled and nodded, his more near-omnipotent prophet's view confirming his suspicions. Anna had escaped, had come here at God's direction. A way to help, not Dean, but Sam to heal. And Castiel was meant to stay with Dean.

He reached over and touched Dean's hand. "I will not leave," he said.

Dean's eyes closed, then the tension seemed to flood out of his body. His hand shifted so his fingers could interlace with Castiel's, then he opened his eyes and smiled. "Good." He picked up his fork and finally began to eat.

"What the hell?" Sam blurted, and, oh, yes, the younger Winchester did not know of his relationship with Dean.

Dean handled it with his usual tact. "We're lovers. Get over it and finish your eggs."

"Way to break the news." Sam shook his head. "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean said with a grin. "Now about you and Anna teaming up."

"Sounds good," Sam said with a nod and a smile for her. "Cause I so don't want to share a car with those two."

"Sharin' a house with 'em ain't gonna be much better, boy," Bobby said. "Two of them are so gone over each other it's downright sickening."

Sam made a face. "Maybe I'll stay in the panic room."

Dean laughed. "Don't worry, little bro. I made certain the rooms are sound proof."

"Dean, I'm eating," Sam groaned. And yes, it was good to hear everyone laugh again. But, as humans would say, there was a war on, and by the time they were all down to drinking their coffee, Castiel broached the dangers of his remaining here.

"Well, ya sure as hell can't go either, ya danged fool," Bobby snapped. And perhaps Castiel had misjudged a gruff nature for a disapproving one.

"So I have come to understand," he answered and gave Dean's hand a squeeze. He had much … groveling to do for what he had put his lover through.

"Guess it's research time," Sam said and Bobby nodded, but Anna frowned.

"Wait a minute. You aren't married?"

Dean snorted. "You think that some dude in a collar saying 'I now pronounce you' is going to get Zac to call off the hit on Cas?"

"That is not how an angel marries, Dean," Castiel told him.

She nodded. "Not only would it solve the problem, but it's pretty high blasphemy for you to be having sex without doing it. Taint is probably helping … Zac find you."

Yes, Castiel was aware of this. A true marriage was an angel bonding itself to a human to prove its love pure and free of coercion, but, "I thought the knowledge of how to do so was lost."

Understanding replaced confusion on her face. "Ah, more information withheld from the lower ranks in the name of control." She smiled, but it had a smug air to it. "Guess it's a good thing I decided to join the party."

Castiel reminded himself that his Father did indeed work in mysterious – and frequently aggravating – ways. "So you know the rite?"

She nodded. "No English translation for it that doesn't lose all the power, but I know it in a language you can speak in this form." She uttered a series of sounds not heard in human memory.

Cas repeated them, memorizing them easily.

Dean said, "What the hell is going on?"

And Bobby laughed. "Relax, Princess, sounds like yer gettin' hitched."

Anna stopped abruptly, while Castiel felt a blush warm his face. "Not here, he isn't," she said, smirking. "Angel spells and rites require body fluids."

Sam choked.

Bobby rolled his eyes.

Chuck gave everyone an 'I knew that already' nod.

Dean turned bright red and jumped to his feet. "I'll be in our room," he squeaked. Then his eyes widened, and he turned even redder before he fled from the house.

Castiel threw his head back and laughed as he never had before it a very long life. It felt marvelous.

He was still smiling rather broadly an hour later when he walked into their bedroom carrying a bundle of things they'd need. The sight of Dean sitting in the center of the bed not quite clutching the blanket to his bosom like a Victorian maiden did not help matters, but they needed to talk before anything could happen.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he let the warmth of what he felt for Dean enter his smile. "You have seen blood magic at work with the banishing spell," he said. "Spilled blood is powerful, but it represents death. Sexual releases hold life within them. There is no magic, no rite with greater power than those that use such a release. This will bind us for all time no matter what form we may take and none save God can release us from our promise to one another."

"Guess all the divorce lawyers go to the other place," Dean muttered, his eyes huge and so beautiful it all but robbed Castiel of his voice.

He smiled. "Something like that. You must be certain, my love. This is not something to do because you fear I will leave. I have already promised you I would not."

"But it'll get Zac off our backs?"

"It might." He considered how to explain it, then said, "Our ability to heal one another is a pale reflection of what will happen. My grace will become as much a part of you as it is me. He cannot destroy me without killing you as well. The reverse is also true. We would live and die as one."

"So we'd get Heaven off our backs, but make it easier for Hell to take us both out?"

"Yes. And Zachariah might decide to slay us as well. It is unlikely given the role you must play in his plans, but your defiance has already angered him enough that he has chosen careless assassins to pursue me."

Dean nodded his understanding, then they both lapsed into silence. It lasted 14 minutes and 24.6 seconds, then he said, "I've sorta been thinking of you as my husband for awhile now." He gave him a half-embarrassed smile. "So I guess, yeah, Cas, let's do it."

He smiled, then leaned forward to give Dean a gentle kiss. "Get undressed," he said softly, then stood and got his bundle.

A white candle went into each of the four corners of the room. In front of the first he emptied a small bag of dirt. A second candle, this one black, balanced the next. Incense he had prepared under Anna's direction was set before the third. Salt water in a clay bowl reflected the light from the final candle. Five flames danced, fragrant smoke filled the air and he could smell the salt of the sea, the richness of earth.

Satisfied, he stepped back and removed his clothing. "This okay to leave on?" Dean whispered, gesturing at the amulet he always wore. A gift from his brother. A different sort of love, but a strong one. It would not disrupt the rite.

"Yes," he answered, moving over to the bed. "Three times I will ask. Three times you must answer with what is in your heart."

Dean nodded.

"You are certain?"

"Yes."

"You are certain?"

"Yes."

"You are certain?"

"Yes." And he would not have been his Dean if there had not been a 'get on with it already' glint in his eye.

He knelt on the bed, then crawled up it and over Dean. "So impatient," he whispered and kissed him. "So beautiful."

"So are you."

"I love you." He nipped at Dean's ear while Dean nuzzled his neck.

"Love you. So much, Cas. Scares me."

He knew. "I will not leave you. I will never leave you."

"Please, Cas," he sighed, clutching at Castiel's shoulders.

Yes. He began to chant the words as their hands and lips explored one another. After a time, Dean began to wriggle, a question in his eyes as the love they shared and the words of power combined and began to work on his body. Cas gave him a reassuring smile. No blood, no pain, but nothing to separate them, not even the smallest drop of oil.

Strong legs lifted, then slid over his shoulders, and he paused to give Dean a deep kiss that left them both gasping. It took a moment to recapture his breath, then he returned to the words. Dean's flesh granted him entrance at the barest push and they slid together as if they were one being finally reuniting. They moved in a rhythm that matched his chanting. Slow, deep, all consuming. It grew harder and harder to speak, but he forced out the words, both body and chant picking up speed as the energy in the room grew. He settled into the final phrase, repeating it over and over again – roughly it meant 'we are one'. When he faltered, Dean began to chant it. Softly at first, almost uncertain, then louder as Castiel's voice joined his. Louder and faster, energy pulsing around and within them. _We are one. We are one. We are one._ In a perfect harmony of voice and body, they climaxed, seed flowing between and within. Grace followed, flowing from Castiel into Dean then back again over and over as their bodies shuddered in ecstasy until neither knew were one stopped and the other began. Then a warm, sacred darkness enfolded them both. One.

*

Epilogue

Dean walked to the center of the warehouse. And yeah, meetings in deserted, dilapidated warehouses were beyond cliche, but hey, if it kept the innocent bystander quota to a minimum, he could put up with a lack of originality. He muttered a few words of power, then added, "Hey, Zac! I'm talkin' to you, jackass!"

Three. Two. One. "Dean."

And cue the fathead in question. "Zac, sucks to see you again."

"And here I thought you'd decided to be reasonable," he said, doing a poor imitation of a disappointed father. And, man, wouldn't Dean have loved to see his dad kick this douchebag's ass.

"Says the guy who thought bringing on the Apocalypse was a 'reasonable' idea," he said with a snort. "How's that going for you, anyway? Everything working out as planned?"

Zac looked shifty and yeah, not so smooth going after all. "Every plan has it's snags."

"Well, I'm here to give you good news."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you can stop wasting energy on hunting down the one angel who isn't a dick like you."

Zac gave him a look of such false sympathy it almost made Dean puke. "Dean, Dean, it isn't like I have much choice. Discipline must be maintained."

"Yeah, well, fuck your discipline. See this?" He held up his left hand and wiggled his ring finger so the gold band on it caught the light. He'd insisted on their buying and wearing them. Sometimes it was all about the Earthly symbols.

"A wedding ring?"

"Gold star for you. Now, look deeper."

Zac gave him a 'the mud monkey has lost it' look, then frowned. Dean felt something like bad vibes brush against him, but refused to give the bastard the satisfaction of shuddering. "Not possible," Zac protested the moment the penny dropped.

"Oh, yeah, it is." He glanced toward a shadowed corner. "Isn't it, snookums?"

Shaking his head slightly, Cas stepped out of the sort of angel-blocker-ward and into enough light to be seen. Really cool spell. Unfortunately, it only worked for a few minutes. But hey, that was all they needed. "Yes … pooh-bear."

Okay, no more _Legally Blonde_ viewings for the angel, but then again, watching Zac turn all purple might be worth it.

"You bound yourself to this … this …?" Words failed the gasbag, so it wasn't clear who he was madder at – the traitor or the mud monkey.

Dean smirked at his husband, but the killjoy looked more disgusted than amused, but, yeah, Zac was the dude who'd had him tortured in the name of Heaven, then turned out to be playing for an entirely different team. "Yeah, them's the breaks, baldy. I get the sexy angel and to mess with your head all at the same time. Life is good."

"I will destroy you both!" Zac shouted, and it should have been intimidating, but Dean had lived through 40 years in Hell, so, not so much.

"Been tried by better than you," Dean snapped. "But we just keep popping back out of the grave like freakin' superheroes in some lame ass comic book."

Cas insisted on being more business-like. "You know the prophesy, Zachariah. Only Dean can slay Lucifer. Kill either of us and ultimately the Morning Star, not you, will rule all."

"Your precious mud monkey has already refused his duty!"

"I refused to be your boy's fucking meatsuit!" Dean shot back. "I'll take out Lucy when I'm ready, and on my terms. Until then you and your pathetic minions can just stay the fuck out of our lives!"

"I-"

"Will be going now," Cas said, and lifting his bleeding hand he slammed it into the shadows and against the blood spell on the wall.

With a final bellow of outrage, Zac vanished.

"That just never gets old," Dean said with a satisfied smirk. He walked over to his husband. "Think our fiendish scheme worked?"

Cas nodded. "If it did not matter, it would not have angered him."

"So now all we have to worry about is Lucy and Hell on Earth."

A faint smile. "It is difficult to see that as the good news, but, yes, that would be true."

"Cool." He took hold of Castiel's bloodied hand. "Can't help but notice you're hurt, handsome."

Cas smiled. "Perhaps you could kiss it and make it better."

Yeah, Dean could do that.

end


End file.
